ruitless search on the part of W. Keyse.

She tried to run at first, but the can was full and heavy, and her knees
shook under her at the screaming of the bullets over that cross-swept
field. Her pore 'art beat somethink crooil, and there was a horrible kind
of swishing in her years, but to give up, and chuck away the can, and
scuttle back to cover, with Them Two stepping along in front as cool--and
more than halfway over, was what Emigration Jane could not demean herself
to do. And at last they passed her coming back, and the Fort loomed up
before her, as suddenly as though it had sprouted up mushroom-fashion
under her dazzled eyes. And grimy men were leaning over the
sandbag-parapet applauding her, and blackened hands attached to hairy arms
reached down and grabbed the can, and it was taken up into the air and
vanished, she never knew how. And then she was staring up into the lean,
brickdust-coloured face of a Corporal of the Town Guard, whose head was
swathed in a bloody bandage, and in all the world there was only Her and
Him.

"You fust-class little Nailer. You A1 bit o' frock----" W. Keyse began.
Then his pale eyes bolted and his jaw fell, and his overwhelming joy and
relief took on the aspect of horrified consternation.

"Watto!" he was beginning weakly, but she tore her gaze from his, and with
a rending sob, covered her face with her hands, and ran blindly. He
remained petrified and staring. And then a bullet struck him full in the
face, and he screamed like a shot rock-rabbit, and threw up his arms and
fell back, smothering in his own blood, behind the breastwork. And she
never knew the cruel trick that Fate had played her, as she ran....

She learned it later, when Young Eybel and his party were marched
prisoners into town, and cheer upon cheer went up from British throats,
and bells were ringing joyfully, and "God Save the Queen!" bellowed in
every imaginable key, was heard from every possible quarter.

It was while the Barala were wailing over their suffocated women and
piccaninns, and the acrid fumes of burning yet hung heavy in the
powder-tainted air, and the R.A.M.C. men and their volunteer helpers were
bringing in the wounded and the dead, that Emigration Jane saw a face upon
a stretcher that was being carried through the rejoicing crowd, and
screamed at the sight, and fell tooth and nail upon the human barrier that
interposed between herself and it, and got through--how, she never could
'a' told you